


Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

by sonicSymphony



Series: Soft Stars [3]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Funeral, Gen, Mass Effect 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicSymphony/pseuds/sonicSymphony
Summary: After Commander Jane Shepard died over Alchera, Ashley Williams was approached to give a speech at Shepard's very public, very uncomfortable funeral. She nearly doestoowell.





	Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

**Author's Note:**

> Happy N7 Day! This is my first in the fandom, and it's been a lot of fun to see what everyone has produced! This wasn't what I wanted to post, but it's been a hectic couple of weeks so I wasn't able to finish what I _was_ going to, but I did manage to pull this together a couple of days ago.
> 
> I hadn't touched on who my Virmire survivor was in Soft Stars canon, and now you know that it's Ashley, and you get to see where the series title comes from.

Ashley Williams felt she was not the best person to speak at Commander Shepard’s funeral, but it was an honor to be asked, so she did it. Her reluctance didn’t come from any hard feelings toward Shepard—Ashley had come to respect the woman greatly, as well as call her a friend—but she thought there were others on the crew of the Normandy who were better suited to the job. Liara would be able to say wonderful things about Shepard, but she probably wouldn’t be able to get through a single sentence without sobbing. Garrus had admired Shepard the most out of all of them, and Shepard had been more of a mentor to Garrus than anyone else on her squad, but he’d probably deflect anything too meaningful with humor, and having a turian speak at a human funeral would be unprecedented. Tali would’ve been a good choice, but she was so young, and Ashley figured that Anderson didn’t want to put that burden on her. There was no way that the Alliance would ever let Wrex stand behind that podium. Kaidan—

Kaidan was dead. He’d died months before Shepard. Not him, then.

So, it was left to Ashley to fill the small space between Shepard’s N7 mentor and David Anderson’s closing remarks. Since she didn’t have a predilection for public speaking, she decided to fall back on a hobby that was funeral-appropriate: poetry. In the four days leading up to the public funeral, Ashley pored over the extranet, trying to find something that felt right for the woman who had given Ashley a chance to prosper like no other CO ever had, for the woman who had been such a driving force and reassuring presence to anyone on the Normandy, for the woman who had saved the Citadel and pushed back the Reaper invasion. Nothing seemed like it was enough to capture Shepard’s essence, nor Ashley’s state of mind. She didn’t want to get too personal, but she also knew that Anderson hadn’t asked her to do this just to give some generic spiel about how great Shepard was. Ashley was in her ground squad. Anderson knew that she had something more to say.

_O Captain! My Captain!_ , while appropriate, would hit too hard with the “fallen cold and dead” line at the end. _Call to Rapture_ , an ode to an asari commando, seemed to capture Shepard’s spirit, but they had Hackett to talk about the Commander’s battle prowess; Ashley wanted to do something besides wax poetic about warps and barriers.

The night before the funeral, Ashley came across a book of drell prayers, and she nearly settled on a sonnet about Amonkira— _Hunt, For Time Wanes_ —but no, that wasn’t quite right either. She’d have to change the pronouns; she didn’t feel right altering another species’s religion for her own purposes.

What Ashley finally settled on was simple and short. It wasn’t perfect (nothing ever would be), but since Ashley wasn’t a writer herself, it would have to work.

As she was dozing in bed, her omnitool pinged with a voice call. Ashley was surprised to see Garrus’s name pop up on the display, and she answered, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Hello?”

“Ash?” Garrus said. His voice sounded more layered on the comm, but she could still understand him. “Sorry, I know it’s late, but—spirits, this was stupid, forget I called—”

“Vakarian,” Ashley stopped him, running a hand back through her hair, “it’s alright. What do you need?”

He sighed. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he said, “Anderson asked you to give a speech tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Ashley said. It was hard to tell if he was jealous without looking at him, but Ashley hadn’t been very good at reading Garrus in person, either. There might’ve been envy, but she really couldn’t be sure. “Just finished with it, actually.”

“What’s it about?”

Ashley raised her eyebrows. “It’s about Shepard. Plus there’s a poem.”

“How enlightening, Williams.” He was more tired than wry, but he wouldn’t be Garrus without a little bit of dryness in his tone. “What about—? Do you—?”

She didn’t understand why he was so nervous. “Was there something you wanted me to touch on?”

“What?”

Ashley let out a small snort. Still hadn’t learned all the human idioms, then. “Was there anything you wanted me to put in?”

“No,” Garrus said hurriedly, “no, I don’t want to rewrite your speech.”

“Really? Huh, I thought it sounded like you want to stick your fringe in it.” A few months ago, Ashley would’ve been mad about a turian trying to tell her how to do something, especially when it involved such a personal death. Now, she was just amused, and a little sad; Garrus had been closer to Shepard than Ashley, and it was nice that he cared about the only Normandy tribute in the ceremony. However, if he insisted upon some drastic change or criticized her poem choice, she’d start to get annoyed.

He huffed, making the omnitool’s crappy speakers buzz. His request was rushed. “I just wanted to know if you’re going to mention Torfan.”

Torfan was the ghost that had haunted Shepard for the past five years of her career, even after making Spectre. The regular crew might not have noticed Shepard’s discomfort with her victory, but Ashley had been in the cargo bay after the mission to find Major Kyle. Torfan was one of those missions Shepard didn’t talk about, just like Eden Prime was to Ashley. She scoffed. “Garrus, of _course_ I didn’t mention Torfan. You really think I’d call her the Butcher in front of hundreds of people _and_ the media?”

“No,” he said, both defensive and relieved, “that’s not what I thought, but…” His voice went softer. “I know someone’s going to say it, and it’s going to piss me off.”

Ashley tried to be sympathetic. “They wouldn’t call a dead woman the Butcher of Torfan at her own funeral. I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about.”

“But they’ll mention Torfan,” Garrus said firmly. “It won’t be you or Anderson, but someone else will. They shouldn’t, but they will, and…”

“And Shepard wouldn’t want that.”

“That’s not it,” Garrus said, frustration making his subvocals thick. “Shepard would’ve wanted _honesty_. But someone mentioning that wouldn’t be honest. It’ll just be disrespectful to everything she’s done since.”

“I know,” Ashley said, laying back in her bed. She was staying at a hotel on the Persidium, waiting in limbo until she got a new assignment. Whatever came next for her, she’d never experience anything like the chase for Saren again. That was impossible now. “I hope no one brings it up. You know I definitely won’t.”

“Yeah.”

When the silence dragged on, Ashley said, “Get some sleep, Garrus. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said again. “See you.”

At the funeral, Ashley was placed on the border between several Alliance officers and the Normandy’s ground squad, preforming as an intermediary for the two groups. She didn’t mind, but it was hard to be sandwiched between Counselor Anderson—who was trying to stoically bury his grief with only some success—and Liara—who was less concerned with people watching her cry. Garrus was next to Liara with Tali on his other side. Garrus was silent, which was a big change from his usual wry remarks, but Ashley understood. Tali’s eyes were barely visible through her fogged mask. Joker was next in the lineup, head bowed, expression hidden by the brim of his hat that clashed horribly with his black suit. Wrex was on the end next to Joker, muttering under his breath every once in a while as Alliance dignitaries and the Council gave speeches about Shepard’s career. Ashley wondered why Wrex showed up if he was just going to complain the whole time, but then berated herself for being unfair. Wrex came to Shepard’s funeral for the same reason the rest of the Normandy’s crew did: to pay respects for a death that came too soon. Just because he was a big brute didn’t mean he hadn’t cared for Shepard.

Ashley spent most of the ceremony shuffling the two cue cards for her own speech. When it was her turn, she got tunnel vision, everything blurred except her objective. She walked up the stairs onto the stage and stood at the podium, adjusting the microphone that had been pointed upward for a taller woman’s height. Having to be on a raised platform above everyone else made it feel less like a funeral and more like a press conference. Hell, this event _was_ one big press conference. There were plenty of big names in news hanging around at the back, microphones ready to pick up any comments that were heartwarming or gloomy or damning. Ashley looked out over the audience, knowing that most of these people hardly even knew Shepard and the people watching on the news hadn’t known her at all. Ashley swallowed. Speaking in front of a crowd like this didn’t really bother her, but knowing that so few people actually cared about Shepard like Ashley did made her stomach twist.

Ashley decided to look at the front row, to the left of her empty seat. Garrus and Tali and Liara and Joker cared. Even Wrex was watching her attentively. She’d speak for all of them. “Commander Jane Shepard saved the Citadel, stopped the geth, and postponed an invasion force,” Ashley began. “Her biotics were incredible, her knack for command unparalleled, and her ability to care for every single life she touched was unprecedented for someone who lived through the circumstances she did. You’ve already listened to Shepard’s life story and her military accomplishments.” (Some Alliance bigwig _had_ mentioned Torfan, and Ashley hadn’t missed the way Garrus had tensed.) “Though Shepard and I only met because we were both marines and we ended up serving together on the Normandy, I knew her as more than just a commander. A lot of COs don’t take the time to get to know their crew, but Shepard did. It wasn’t just people she’d take into the field, either—she made a point to talk with every member of her crew, doing rounds on the Normandy to make sure everyone on that ship was in a good place to do their best work. She kept track of birthdays and families and stuff that other commanders would deem inconsequential, but that care was a morale boost.

“And Shepard _cared_. It was never fake with her. She wanted to make sure that the crew stationed on the Normandy wanted to be there. As long as a problem wasn’t connected to their ability to properly serve the Alliance, Shepard was always willing to help someone sort out personal matters and lend a sympathetic ear. She had a moral compass stronger than anyone I’ve known; her purpose was to cultivate and persevere and _love_. She wanted to help every person she met, and she did everything in her power to do so. All of us are here right now because of Shepard. She saved our lives, whether it was during the Battle of the Citadel or some smaller day that will not make the history books.”

Shepard had saved Ashley’s life on Eden Prime, and she’d saved it again when instead of casting her off, Shepard invited her to the Normandy. Ashley would forever be in her debt, and now she could never repay it.

“Shepard is still here,” Ashley said firmly. She could feel a lump in her throat, but she could speak through it, and she had enough self-control not to cry. “In saving us all, she gave us a piece of herself to hold onto. She is the reason there is a Citadel to stand on. Her care is what brings us all together. I’m going to read you all a poem that I feel is appropriate for a woman whose life touched so many others.”

Clearing her throat, Ashley switched index cards to the one containing the poem. Her hands hardly shook. “ _Do not stand at my grave and weep_ ,” she recited. Her voice never wavered. “ _I am not there. I do not sleep_.”

As Shepard had thrashed about in the abyss, reaching desperately for her severed oxygen hose, she did not think she was going to die—not there, not like that. It couldn’t have been her time. There was so much to do, and the Reapers were coming. Not yet. Please, not yet.

“ _I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain_.”

Please let me be the only casualty, Shepard thought once black spots had begun to appear in her vision. She’d gotten Joker out, and hopefully the others had listened to her orders and evacuated. Though Shepard hadn’t believed in an afterlife, she indulged in it as her lungs burned. She would see her parents and brother again. Finally, she would go home to the Shepard farm, where the fields of wheat lined the horizon and she hadn’t known that terrible things could happen at any time to anyone. She was not excluded from the galaxy’s grief and wrath. (And even though asphyxiation had felt like a terrible way to die, it was preferable to reliving her last day on Mindoir.)

“ _When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds circled in flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night.”_

Jane Shepard had died amongst stars. They were not what killed her, but that had been all she could see. Though they were far away from her and dim, the stars were not soft. They were cold. They were blurred. They were silent.

“ _Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die_.”

 

* * *

 

Two years later, Shepard woke up.

When Ashley met her on Horizon, she rejected the idea that Shepard had risen from the grave, because Ashley did not want to be a prophet.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem is "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" by Mary Elizabeth Frye.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr here!


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